Dear Mr Darcy
by Fate Is My Muse
Summary: Dear Malfoy: My face is up here, Ferret. Stop staring at my chest...Signed, Granger. (DMxHG)


Hermione couldn't help it, he wouldn't stop staring at her. It was only twenty minutes into class and there he was, staring at her with those beady little coal grey eyes of his. It unnerved her... greatly. And bloody hell! Would he knock it off? Merlin, he was a pain! Hermione dutifully went back to scribbling notes as Professor McGonagall lectured on unaware. Only five more minutes past before the Gryffindor witch found herself flustered all over again from her creepy onlooker's watchful gaze. She felt her face heating up considerably, and was unable to focus on the Professor's voice. Why was he staring at her of all people? Did he hex her again without her knowledge? Did she have a paper plane in her hair? A hand quickly rectified her last fear and after making sure no flying projectiles made their way into her untamable mass of chestnut curls, she settled for addressing her issue head on and got out a new scrap of parchment paper. Hermione would finish this once and for all in the mature and lady-like manner she had to use when it came to dealing with _his _kind...

* * *

_Dear Malfoy, _

_My face is up here. Stop staring at my arse and tits...bloody wanker._

_- Granger_

* * *

She received her reply only moments later, surprising Hermione that he had even bothered to read it in the first place. She didn't bother to look at his face either, for fear of seeing his trademark sneer or, even worse, his embarrassment if what she wrote was actually true and the Pure-blood Prince was checking her out...

Hermione snorted quietly, hysteria slightly creeping into her mind when she quickly reminded herself that Malfoy would _**never**_ look at her like _**that**_. She was an idiot for even letting that thought cross her mind. She probably did have something in her hair, she moodily thought to herself. Malfoy was a jerk; nothing else was new. In fact, she probably should have throw out the note, but curiosity got the better of her and Hermione merely peered at his reply in masochistic wonder of what insulting atrocities Malfoy had decided to pen in correspondence to her less than civil question.

When she hastily tore open the note she then realized that she especially did not want him to see her own face. For now mortification was written on it as clear as a Scourgify spell while she read his elegantly scratched answer with a complexion as red as her House tie.

* * *

_Hey Granger,_

_What tits? You're as flat as a Quidditch pitch! Ha- that rhymed._

_Yours scornfully,_

_D. L. Malfoy_

* * *

She furiously penned her parchment placed retort. Fire blazing in her golden-amber eyes and her hand slightly cramping in protest with how fast she was writing to answer his insult. Hermione had never felt more offended in her life!

'Wait, yes you have,' her mind yelled back at her but she was too mad to care. Hermione even irrationally contemplated throwing a concealed hex with her next note in his direction for extra measure but the still rational side of her brain hastily tried to reel in her way-ward temper before she quite literally decided to forgo hexing him and instead settle for screaming bloody murder and tackling him over the desk like her cat Crook-Shanks would do.

'_No, that wouldn't bode well with the Headmaster,'_ the voice in her head warned, _'I doubt Dumbledore would understand the physical violent tendencies of Muggles and some Muggle-borns. I'd be better off hexing him.'_

But she ended up writing to him instead.

* * *

_Malfoy,_

_You bloody insufferable git! I do so have a bosom, not that I would EVER wish to inform you of the exact measurements! Ugh, I hate you and you look funny...so there!_

_Hatefully Yours,_

_Granger (who hates you very much...) _

_P.S. That did not rhyme, and I hate you._

* * *

Draco looked up from his Transfiguration desk and smirked when another neatly shaped origami finch bird flew next to his notes with yet another complaint from the Know-It-All bushy haired Granger. It was the second magicked note she had sent during the class period and Draco was impressed.

'_How does her feeble Mudblood brain let her do two things at once?'_ he asked himself sarcastically, '_And Merlin forbid she abandon her precious notes to waste time arguing with me!' _

The Blonde wizard chuckled darkly at the thought and opened the note. Only to have his own reply written three minutes later and on Granger's desk in four.

As usual, her merry-band of idiots: Weaselbee and Scar-Head, were none the wiser. What with Potter being too preoccupied with copying Granger's already copious amounts of notes already sitting neatly beside her, and the oafish Weasley blissfully asleep in his chair, Draco had no worries of being caught conversing with a Mudblood, even if they were bickering through parchment like a couple of first years.

But Merlin, he thought slightly amazed, who knew she had it in her to call him out on scoping out her "_arse and tits_". Not that he would ever admit to doing so. He actually was just staring into space and his eyes just so happened to glue themselves to her rather massive rack that was straining against her apparently too small blouse she must've outgrown, not that he was paying mind to who they belonged to. But besides that, he mused irritatedly, that witch had no shame apparently. Such vulgar language for a woman, even if she was a freak. Draco didn't even know if he should've been appalled or impressed. In the end he chose to be amused and waited patiently for her to respond.

* * *

_To My Most Disgusting Bushy-Haired-Buck-Toothed-Teacher's-Pet-Ass-Kissing-Goody-Two-Shoes-Mudblood-Whom-I-Despise: _

_Ha! I doubt you could even fill a pudding cup let alone a bra! What are you? 28AA? Or do you wear a Wittle Witches training bra from Madame Maulkins? _

_Obnoxiously Yours,_

_The Insufferable Git_

_P.S. I did so rhyme, here I'll even make up a new poem just for you:_

_I do not look funny_

_From my asshole it is sunny_

_You have no tits or curvy bits_

_But you do have a face full of zits_

_The End_

* * *

_Dear Insufferable Git,_

_You my horrible Ferret do suck_

_Who no one wishes to fuck (you)_

_If you weren't such a dick_

_Maybe some one would lick_

_Your incredibly microscopic prick! _

_Spitefully,_

_H. Granger _

_P.S. I'll let you know that I buy all my lingerie from the Wicked Witches catalogue, stupid Git! And I don't have acne anymore! You know that! That's what Veela Vanishing Imperfections Salve is for and a healthy diet, not that your ugly butt would understand that! And I am NOT a 28AA! I am a 34DD Dammit! So there! Ugh, I hate you soooo much Malfoy! It's not even funny!_

* * *

Minerva McGonagall was, for once in her long and relatively safe life inside of Hogwarts' impenetrable walls of learning, terribly confused and befuddled. Blame it on Albus' insatiable obsession with sweets and his irrepressible urge to force them upon the Gryffindor Head of House, making her blood sugar rise and muck up her thought process, but the Transfiguration teacher believed that perhaps something else was at work while she tried to teach her sixth year Gryffindor and Slytherin double block class.

She scanned the room with her almost hawk-like vision. Glowering at any and all who looked like the cause of Minerva's troublesome uneasy gut-feeling.

The older witch found that Ron Weasley was, unashamedly and unsurprisingly, asleep next to Mr. Potter, who (Merlin bless the poor lad) was trying to desperately keep up with her lecture and take notes (more often than not, he gave up and just copied Ms. Granger's instead). On the other side of the room, sat a nervous Neville Longbottom who, if Minerva's knowledge of recent gossip was correct, was currently dating a fifth Ravenclaw year by the name of Luna Lovegood who seemed to have given the poor boy a few note taking tips because he hadn't had an emotional breakdown in two days now which impressed the professor more than it should have.

Dean Thomas was meticulously taking notes next to Neville, and Seamus Finnigan (the crude Irishman) was doodling (much to Minerva's disdain). Crabbe and Goyle, the lummoxes, were ignoring her lecture and seemed to be not-so-inconspiculously snacking on Tentacle Tarts they snagged earlier at lunch and were making a mess of her desks. Meanwhile Pansy and Daphne Greengrass were tittering about Merlin knows what kind of gossip from the back, and Blaise Zabini was reading a Qudditch Quarterly magazine that he had not very much bothered to conceal from the formidable witch teaching. It seemed as if only Hermione Granger, Theodore Nott, Millicent Bulstrode, Draco Malfoy, Padma Patil, and Dean were actually taking notes while the rest of her little Lions and Snakes slacked off or dozed.

Minerva felt a vein throbbing in her forehead and made a mental note to visit Poppy after the class was over to ask for a Calming Draught. She was getting too old to do this anymore...

"Mr. Weasley!" she snapped when the red-headed wizard finally burst into loud open-mouthed snores. "Wake up this instant! I will not have you treating my class like a vacation at the Magical Mermaid Resort in the tropics! Wake up or so help me, you'll be serving the evening with me here in detention! Merlin's beard, five points from Gryffindor and if I continue to see this class as a whole, and yes that means you too Mr. Finnigan, then each and every one of you will write me 10 foot parchment essay on Transfiguration today and how it evolved over the millennia!" Minerva huffed after her small semi-ranting outburst, only to notice that her two most gifted students was not so innocent after all in their note-taking. She felt her brows furrow and scowl break out as she angrily barked:

"Miss Granger! What the devil are you doing with Mr. Malfoy?"


End file.
